


Some Assembly Required

by captaincharming



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David and Killian do a little redecorating</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Assembly Required

**Author's Note:**

> a one-shot inspired by a beautiful post, because apparently i base all my fics on tumblr posts
> 
> post: http://warpsex.tumblr.com/post/81808976298/please-tell-me-theres-a-captain-charming-fic

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Most terrible plans do, before you actually set about doing them.

 

David knew Killian was having a hard time adjusting to life in a world without magic. And even though he said he was happy wherever David was, David could tell Killian was often just putting on a brave face. This world was one David was very comfortable in, but Killian was entirely out of element (the man was horrified by bologna, for godsake). Even at home in David’s loft, Killian acted like every appliance or piece of furniture was out to get him.

 

So David decided that, in order to have Killian feel like the apartment was theirs instead of just David’s, he would take Killian shopping and let him pick out how he wanted to decorate. Killian had seemed dubious at first ( _“You don’t exactly learn much about interior design on a pirate ship, mate.”_ ) but David had insisted.

 

It was almost scary how important Killian had become to him in such a short time, but David knew he would do anything to make sure he knows that his place in David’s life is a permanent one. A pirate’s life isn’t full of much permanence, but David seeks to change that for Killian. At least where David is concerned. He’s in this for the long haul, and he intends to prove that. Even if it means letting Killian redecorate his whole life as he sees fit.

 

However, David was deeply regretting pushing Killian into this particular endeavor, as they were now struggling to assemble their brand new (extremely expensive) couch in the middle of the living room floor. After an excruciatingly long and frustrating trip to Ikea ( _“I thought you said pirates had no concept of design? Why the hell do you care about color so much?” “I’ve become an expert since we’ve been here and I assure you, a black sofa will clash horribly with the paint. Unless…”_ ) But David had put his foot down on the speculative gleam in Killian’s eye. No way was he going to repaint the entire apartment to match a specific couch. So he’d allowed Killian to drag him about the store, searching for a sectional that didn’t offend Killian’s newly acquired decorating tastes.

 

It had taken ages, and David was pretty sure the poor sales clerk that had attempted to help them was now traumatized. David himself feels traumatized. Killian couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of floor models and had bitched about the lack of color range to no end ( _“Are you blind as well as deaf? I said NO black, brown or grey, and yet every divan you’ve shown us is decidedly one of those.”_ ). But now that they’re home, David almost wishes they were back at Ikea.

 

The couch isn’t even out of the box and they’ve already had one heated argument. David thought it would look best on the wall by the door, so that the floor space between the kitchen and bedroom was open. Killian disagreed, arguing that it needed to be placed under the window instead, giving one a clear view of the bedroom. ( _“Why would we ever need to see the bed from the couch, Killian?” “So when I make you sleep on it, you’ll have a clear view of what you’re missing, Dave.”_ ) The pointless argument had gone round in circles until David, in an outburst, had thrown his hands in the air in concession. “Fine! It’s your couch anyway, do whatever you want.” David almost regretted his acquiesce, except the kiss Killian had given him in response made him want to forget the couch entirely.

 

“And what does this do?” David is pulled from his musing by Killian’s fifteenth inquiry about the contents of David’s toolbox. He’d been rummaging around in it with an air of indifference, pretending not to be fascinated by the contents. But whenever he found something he simply couldn’t squelch his curiosity about, he’d hold it up for David’s inspection. The previous items he’d asked about included a tape measure, a square, and a chalk pencil. This time, he’s holding a box cutter. David offers up a prayer of thanks that Killian’s finally discovered something relevant to their project.

 

“That’s a box cutter,” David answers, as patiently as he can manage. “Pretty self explanatory. You cut boxes with it.” He gestures towards the large box between them. “You can go ahead and use it now, if you want.”

 

David’s certain Killian will be thrilled to be of use. He could sense the pirate’s desire to test out the things he’d pulled from the toolbox (and his disappointment every time David had informed him they wouldn’t need that item). But now Killian’s found something they’ll need and that is fairly easy to operate. He may not know anything about constructing a sofa, but surely he can open a box.

 

David’s confidence is quickly dashed when Killian drops the box cutters back into the toolbox with a scoff.

 

“Why the hell would I use that bloody contraption when I have a perfectly good, not to mention sharp, hook right here?” He waves said hook at David with a cheeky grin and, before David can stop him, plunges it right into the top of the box.

\---x---

It’s an outrage is what it is.

 

Killian stands against the wall, arms crossed over his chest petulantly as he watches David carefully remove each piece of their new couch from the box Killian has just “mutilated” (David’s word, not his).

 

David curses to himself as he pulls out yet another piece of scratched wood, and Killian’s frown grows. How was he to know the bloody thing was so delicate that the merest brush of his hook would render it “destroyed”? (again, David’s word.)

 

As it is, Killian has now been banned from any couch assembly duties. He smirks a little to himself, remembering just how red David’s ears and cheeks had turned when Killian had attempted to expedite the box opening process. ( _“Killian! What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just go ramming your hook into things!” “I’ve never heard you complain about it before, love.”_ ) At the innuendo, complete with lecherous leer, David had shoved Killian roughly aside and dropped to his knees to inspect the damage to the sofa.

 

He glances up from the same spot in time to catch Killian’s smirking recollection and glares hotly. “This isn’t funny, Killian,” David grits out, muscle in his jaw working in that frustrated way of his.

 

Killian glares right back, annoyance at David’s superior attitude taking precedence over his attraction to the man’s temper. “I should say not,” he snarls in reply. “Imagine, a decorated military man and accomplished captain of the high seas being reduced to an observer of his own project.”

 

David opens his mouth to retort, but closes it with a weary sigh, running a hand over his eyes slowly. Killian settles back against the wall, watching him closely. He knows David well enough to recognize the slightly guilty droop of his shoulders, and he rejoices that he may have succeeded in causing David to back down from his usually firm stance twice in one afternoon.

 

After a few moments, David pulls a sheaf of papers out of the (only slightly) blighted box. He stands up slowly, letting out another long breath before extending the papers in Killian’s direction. “Here,” he says brusquely.

 

Killian takes the sheets, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. David tips his head back and speaks his next words to the ceiling, as though it is costing him a great effort (And he calls ME dramatic).

 

“A captain’s job is to give orders, right?” David lowers his head to fix his eyes on Killian’s. At Killian’s slight nod, David continues “Well, these are the directions for putting the couch together. If you read them to me, I’ll do what you tell me to do.”

 

Both of Killian’s brows raise, this time in surprise. “Anything I tell you to do?” he asks, a hint of glee in his voice. He loves nothing more than ordering David around. Except maybe when David actually listens.

 

David is shaking his head, however, a wry smile on his face. “Anything the directions say to do,” he clarifies, laughing when Killian resumes his pouting. “You’ll still be the one telling me to do it!”

 

Killian returns the smile, affection for David pulsing under his skin. The man is often insufferable, but he’s been trying his damndest to make Killian happy.

 

“Aye, you’ve got yourself a deal.” He holds out his right hand solemnly and David shakes it, fingers trailing across Killian’s palm slowly as he pulls his hand back.

 

Killian suppresses a shudder as David turns away, returning to kneel before the box. Killian begins shuffling through the papers in his hand, turning the pages with his hook and realizing, perhaps a bit too late, that he has no idea how to “read directions” or whatever it was David had said to do.

 

David looks back over his shoulder at the noise, the creases between his eyes returning. “Be careful with those, Killian,” he admonishes. “Are you sure you can handle this? I can read them myself, if you’d rather.”

 

Killian bristles at the implication. “I’ve been handling delicate, intrinsic maps for longer than you’ve been alive, David. I think I can manage directions,” Killian snaps tersely.

 

David holds both hands up in surrender, turning back to the contents of the sofa box. Wrinkling his nose in confusion, Killian flips through the pages in his hand again. Perhaps they’re upside down? He fumbles with the bloody directions for a few moments more before his frustration gets the better of him. He flips through the papers briskly, as though trying to extract information from them by force alone. Entirely too late, Killian realizes his actions had been tearing the directions. He now holds double the pages he’d had before, and every previously complex diagram is practically illegible.

 

“So what’s first?” David asks, meticulously arranging sofa pieces and tools around himself.

 

Killian grimaces, glancing down at the torn directions in his hand, then up at David, who is still kneeling a few feet away with his back (thankfully) to Killian. 

 

"What does it say to do first?" David asks again, in that voice of his that Killian knows to mean he's barely keeping a rein on his temper. The voice that Killian can never decide to try and soothe, or to press a bit more so he can see David's adorable angry face.

 

"Killian?" David prompts testily after several seconds of silence in which Killian has been imagining the way the tips of David's ears turn red before he completely loses it. Sort of like they are now, actually.

 

"Oh, er, I don't know really," Killian answers, bracing himself for David's inevitable tirade. "I don't understand them." 

 

David turns around, an exasperated look on his handsome face. "What do you mean you don't understand them? What, are they in Chinese?"

 

Killian frowns, squinting down at the one legible portion of the paper in his hand. "Portuguese, actually, whatever that is." He straightens up, smiling at David sheepishly. "So unless you speak that, these," he waves the shredded directions airily, "are useless."

 

David stands up suddenly, and Killian feels a slight thrill at the thunderous expression on his face. "Are you saying," he asks in a tight voice, advancing on Killian slowly, "that there are no English directions on that sheet?"

 

Killian swallows nervously as David comes to stand before him, then draws himself up haughtily, nearly matching David's height. "Well there were," he hedges, unwilling to admit his folly quite yet. 

 

"And what happened to them?" David presses closer, breath fanning over Killian's face. And, despite the fact that David is very obviously furious with him, Killian has an overwhelming urge to kiss the scowl from that lovely mouth. He averts his eyes instead, staring at a point just over David's shoulder.

 

"Well," Killian placates, "you know. Just...things. Accidentally and such."

 

Killian steps back as David explodes, shoving his hands violently in his hair and spinning away before turning right back. "What do you mean, 'accidentally'?" he fumes, eyes narrowed until they're nearly slits. "What happened to all the maps you've supposedly handled?"

 

"Those were made of proper parchment," Killian returns indignantly. "Not this thin, flimsy rubbish you use here. It's not my fault these were printed on inferior material."

\---x--- 

One hour, three more arguments, a thrown screwdriver, five sarcastic comments (Killian), one storming out (David), and countless scratches in the wood (that insure that David can never return the piece of shit couch) later, they've just admitted defeat and spread the enormous cushion out on the floor in front of the TV. The various other couch building detritus lies in a frustrated pile in the corner.

 

David and Killian sprawl on the cushion in tense, stony silence. Occasionally Killian will sigh forlornly, but David ignores him. He hasn't quite recovered his temper yet, and he's unwilling to make any further concession on Killian's behalf. It's the bastard's fault that David new (very expensive) couch is basically good for nothing but firewood.

 

After long moments in which David keeps his eyes resolutely fixed on the television, he feels Killian's own eyes studying his profile imploringly. David clenches his jaw slightly, still focused on the home improvement show the TV is tuned to. (“It's not as fucking easy as they make it look. I bet none of their boyfriends have couch destroying hooks for hands. And they can probably all read directions.")

 

As David was mentally cursing the bubbly show hosts, Killian had been shifting imperceptibly closer to him on the cushion. David doesn't realize how close he's gotten until he feels Killian's warm breath in his ear. "David," Killian whispers teasingly, a hint of the same mocking tone he's used all day in his voice. David stiffens instantly, shoving Killian away with his shoulder.

 

"Oh come on, love," Killian huffs irritably. "It's not as bad as all that."

 

David finally turns to look at him, a scowl fixed on his face. "Yeah? How do you figure?"

 

To David's surprise (and certainly NOT to his arousal), Killian smirks at him, one eyebrow raised suggestively.

 

"Well...," he drawls slowly, eyes running over David in a visual caress that nearly causes him to shiver. "The way I see it," Killian continues, meeting David's eye with a wicked grin, "this makes it a helluva lot easier to shag on the couch."

 

It’s amazing, really, how Killian always manages to put things in perspective. Maybe that’s why David keeps him around.

 

And it’s obvious Killian knows it too, as David leans in to kiss that smug smirk from his mouth.


End file.
